


Eleven

by RoswellSmokingWoman



Category: Adam (2009), Charlie Countryman (2013), De grønne slagtere | The Green Butchers (2003), Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, Mænd & høns | Men & Chicken (2015), Spacedogs - Fandom, The Path (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:14:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoswellSmokingWoman/pseuds/RoswellSmokingWoman
Summary: An AU where Nigel is judging a runway model competition. I don't know how to explain myself.
Relationships: Nigel (Charlie Countryman)/Adam Raki, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 53





	Eleven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pensee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensee/gifts), [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



Nigel doesn’t even know why he’s fucking here, but he is and he’s not about to leave. At least it’s mildly interesting, male wannabe models dressed up in tantalizing outfits, strutting around on the runway. Some of the judges are having fun with themselves, screeching and applauding, other times sneering and frowning.

The first model that struts down the runway uses his hips too much when he walks. He’s tall, broad shouldered, with sandy hair. And he’s pompous. Nigel realizes he looks a bit like him, and so he scoffs. That’s a fucking insult. That’s no way to dress up looking like that, either—a slim black shirt and black trousers would be better fitting than whatever floral tuxedo he’s wearing now. Don’t get Nigel started on the hair, either. The other judges give Hannibal perfect scores. Nigel draws a frowny face onto his white board, displaying it for Hannibal to see.

The next model, he’s stocky, not really the model type. He walks as a soldier on the runway, stark sunglasses on his face. Jack is uninspiring; Nigel doesn’t even bother writing on the whiteboard. Charlie, Cal, Elias, and more walk down the runway, Nigel always looking away.

He takes a spare cigarette from his pocket and lights it, nodding at the judges, “What the fuck are you staring at?”

“You’re not supposed to smoke in here,” Beverly tells him. “But it looks cool. So I’ll let it slide.”

“Yeah, you’ll fucking let it fucking slide. I can fucking smoke whenever I fucking want.”

A lithe body catches his attention then, walking down the runway. He’s got a gruff look about him. The outfit he’s wearing is plain, plaid shirt and tan trousers. His hair is a mess of curls, brown and beautiful. But he is enchanting, all the same.

Nigel writes an eleven on the board for Will Graham. He puts it in front of him proudly, staring into those blue eyes of his.

“The maximum score is ten,” Sven hisses at him. “You can’t give him an eleven.”

“It’s a fucking eleven if I say it fucking is. Will looks like my fucking Adam who’s at least a fucking twelve, so Will fucking is a fucking eleven. Do you fucking understand?”

Fucking hell, these judges were such a pain in the fucking ass for him. Sven lets it go, huffing at Nigel. “Alright, he’s an eleven.”

It hurts his feelings, Nigel cannot deny, when Will doesn’t react to the score. He grimaces instead, turning around and walking back down the runway away from them. Nigel stands from his seat, running after the pretty boy. How couldn’t he see it? He won't let him think he doesn't deserve the score. That's fucking impossible, looking so nice--he would have to convince him.

“Where the fuck are you going, gorgeous?” Nigel shouts after him.

He finds Will backstage, Hannibal holding him tightly. So this is it, that prissy little piece of shit would have him. Nigel sighs, at least he looks kind of like him. Too bad gorgeous is fucking crazy if he's with that psycho, he thinks to himself, and then remembers that Adam is at home waiting for him. So he leaves, knowing there’s more judging to be done, but wanting his baby to stroke his hair and talk to him about the moon and the stars and all those other things he doesn’t quite understand but can never stop learning about. Anything from those cherry lips is divine, as far as Nigel is concerned.

Adam is, after all, at least a fucking twelve.


End file.
